


Playing it Cool

by IamHurricane



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), stalia - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Love Triangles, Lydia Martin & Kira Yukimura Friendship, Scalia, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Stalia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:01:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25179637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamHurricane/pseuds/IamHurricane
Summary: Malia's only been in love twice. And she honestly thought she was over both relationships. That is until her two ex-boyfriends, Scott and Stiles, both start vying for her attention again. Against her better judgment, Malia can't help feeling powerfully drawn to each of them.  As the competition escalates, Scott and Stiles both try to turn up the heat, while  Malia does her best to play it cool, afraid of getting her heart broken again.
Relationships: Scott McCall/Malia Tate, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	1. Moonraker

Malia is leaning against the billiard table at Moonraker’s Bar, lining up a perfect shot when something unexpected prickled across her senses. Startled, she scrapes the table with her pool cue and sends the white ball wobbling off to the side, fouling her shot. Malia thumps the edge of the table, annoyed. Lydia smirks as she moves to line up her shot. Malia steps back from the table and ends up backing into Scott. 

The alpha catches her around the waist, steadying her and chuckles in her ear. “It’s only a game, Mal.” 

A little jolt goes through her at the tender way he says her nickname. 

Malia lets the warm feeling wash over her but only for a few seconds before extracting herself from her _friend’s_ very sculpted arms.

“I had that shot.” She mutters as she moves to prop her back against the wall.

Folding her arms across her chest, she watches Lydia sink, ball after ball with precision. Malia cracks her knuckles. She hates losing. And right now, Lydia and Stiles were kicking their asses. Well, mostly Lydia. Stiles has been overly preoccupied with his phone since they started playing. Malia shoots a glance his way. He’s a few feet away from her, perched on a barstool, hunched over his phone. 

This isn’t like him at all. Stiles was usually a bit preoccupied, as a sheriff’s deputy, he always has a case on the go in his head. He was always filling in blanks and searching for clues mentally. But not on _pack nights_. Stiles was the one who instituted weekly hangouts in the first place. He wanted to prevent the pack of, mostly twenty-five-year-olds, from burning out or losing touch at all costs. Annoyed that her ex-boyfriend is breaking his own rules. And feeling a bit playful, Malia snags the beer from his hand. Stiles looks up from his phone just in time to catch Malia stealing a sip. 

“Hey!” he whines, making a grab for it. Malia sidesteps him with a chuckle and gives him a salute with his bottle. She leans back against the wall beside him and knocks her shoulder against his, fondly. 

“Maybe you should keep your eyes on the game, Stilinski,” she says with a laugh. 

Stiles sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters as he quickly pockets his phone. 

Malia turns toward him, propping her shoulder against the wall as she assesses him. “You’re too quiet. What’s wrong?” 

Stiles straightens up on his stool. His eyes flashing playfully as he quips. “What? I can’t be quiet?” 

Malia smirks. “Not if you’re life depended on it.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes at her. “Whoa, harsh. I’ll have you know I was the stealthiest cadet in my class at the academy.” 

Malia scoffs. “You…stealthy?” 

Stiles gives her a nod as he steals back his beer. “Uh-huh. The stealthiest.” 

“Well, did your fellow cadets see you cross a bar? ‘Cause you tripped on a table on the way over here.” 

Stiles pulls his beer bottle away from his mouth, chuckling. “That doesn’t count.” He says with a shake of his head. “That table came out of nowhere,” he jokes, but his laughter doesn’t reach his eyes. Malia reaches for his beer, and Stiles lets her take it from his hand. Malia takes a sip then starts picking at the label, as she pauses hesitating. 

“How’s your Dad?” 

Stiles’ eyes turn serious, quickly darting over her shoulder and checking to see if anyone else was listening. When he’s sure Lydia and Scott aren’t paying attention, his eyes dart back to her, and they soften on her. His dad had a pretty big health scare recently, and Stiles hadn’t told the pack about it. Malia had found out from Melissa and had been there taking his dad’s pain while he had endured a spinal tap. 

Stiles had been beside himself with worry, but until the tests and labs came back, they wouldn’t know if the diagnosis was correct. Malia had taken Stiles home and tried to get him to take his mind off it. She was almost as upset as him, having had a close friendship with the Sheriff herself for years. They got to reminiscing. And wound up taking comfort in each other.

It wasn’t the first time they slept together while they’ve been broken up.

They’ve been dating on and off for years. It was just surprising since it’s been a while. And even more surprising because for the last few weeks, Scott has been expressing some interest in dating Malia again. Interest that she hadn’t entirely been discouraging. 

The tests had come back negative for his dad a week ago, and Malia and Stiles hadn’t really talked about what happened. 

“He’s better. Thanks.” Stiles says softly as his fingers skim along the back of her hand and curl overtop of hers on the beer bottle. His hand lingers there, longer than it should, his thumb stroking hers, soft and slow. The simple touch radiates through her all the way to the tips of her toes. Malia shivers slightly, and he pulls away, snatching his bottle back with a smirk.

Stiles takes a sip of his drink without taking his eyes off her. And Malia’s mouth goes dry, as she’s left with the distinct impression that the predator has just become the prey. 


	2. Let the Games Begin

Malia has no idea how he does it. It’s instantaneous, like flicking a switch. But he can go from being her dorky, endearing, motormouth of a best friend one minute, and then shoot her a searing hot glance the next. Those stupidly attractive, clever, beautiful, whisky brown eyes of his have always been her weakness. His eyes are making all kinds of promises right now. Promises she knows he can live up to, promises that could lead her into all sorts of trouble. 

It’s Lydia who finally breaks the spell, calling for Stiles to come take his turn at the table. Malia practically sighs in relief and the corner of his mouth twitches. He leans back into her space, suddenly and Malia’s breathing hitches. Stiles comes really close, then he reaches around her, his warm breath brushing past her ear as he sets his drink down on the stool behind her. Malia shoots him a death glare as he retreats, unimpressed with his cheap little trick. Stiles flashes her a sexy, little smirk as he backs away, fully aware of what he’s doing to her.

Malia twists her lips at him and swipes his beer from the stool. Stiles chalks up his cue as he turns his laser focus off of her and onto the table. He pauses to push up his sleeves then leans over the table. He lines up his cue and sinks the shot without even blinking. He straightens up and prowls around the table, scoping for the best vantage. Then leans down sinking another shot, then another.

At some point Malia starts biting her lip, no longer watching the table. She’s utterly preoccupied with the way that he moves. The twist of his shoulders as he leans over the table, the play of muscles in his arm as he lines up a shot, the cool and steely focus in his eyes, then the little upturn of his lips as he sinks the ball. Stiles moves around the table like he owns the place and as much as Malia hates losing, winning looks far too good on him for her to be angry.

Stiles leans over the table facing across from her. He lines up his shot, then his eyes flick up to meet hers. His eyes taunt her when he catches her staring. Malia flashes him a rude gesture then takes a prolonged sip of his beer.

Stiles gives her a taunting little shrug then takes his shot without taking his eyes off of her. His cue strikes the white ball at the perfect angle causing it to hop over a pair of striped balls then it’s sent hurtling toward the eight-ball which it knocks into the corner pocket. Stiles straightens up looking entirely too smug. Beside her Scott sigh in defeat. “Best two out of three?”

“Sure. I’m up for another game.” Stiles says, his eyes ping-ponging between Scott and Lydia before landing on Malia. “How about you, Malia?” he teases as he strides back up to her. “You up for another game?” he asks as he steals back his beer.

Malia shakes her head at him and curls her fingers around his pool cue, “It’s my turn to break,” she growls as she steals his cue. She strides to the head of the table, where Scott is racking up the balls, with the heat of Stiles’ gaze lingering on her back. A lock of hair falls in her eyes as she leans over the table, she blows it off her face as she lines herself up. Her jaw is tense, she’s annoyed with Stiles for baiting her like this. But more than that she’s annoyed with herself for taking the bait. She’s just about to take her shot when Scott’s warm hand suddenly engulfs hers.

“Hey, don’t let them get too you.” Scott coaxes as he untenses her fingers and repositions her hand in the way he'd taught her earlier. "You got this." He says as his hand slides down to her waist and he guides her to change her stance. There's a swooping feeling in her stomach as his hand settles there for longer than strictly necessary and the weight and warmth of his hand starts to feel entirely too good there. Warm, heady memories of Scott and Malia’s short time together in high School start to flood her synapses. And Malia audibly exhales when he finally steps back.

Things have been confusing between her and Scott lately. The air between them is charged with something that hasn’t been there in a long time. They’ve been friends for years. But for a short time after her breakup with Stiles and before Kira came home, they were more.

It was quick, passionate and sweet. It would have lasted long if Kira hadn’t come back when she did. But Malia loved her friend too much to get between her and Scott. She stepped aside and Scott and Kira were happy together for a long time. They even got engaged last summer. But then things fell apart between them and Kira moved to New York City. Now for the first time since high school both of them were single at the same time. And now all those unfinished feelings they’d buried were starting to bubble to the surface.

Malia zeros in on the ball in front of her and makes her busy mind go blank. She draws back her cue and shoots. The white ball rams into the centre of the triangle sending balls ricocheting off the cushions and one ball slips into the side pocket. Scott lets out a whoop, behind her and Malia straightens up with a grin. She brings her cue up to her lips and shoots a sidelong glance at Stiles and Lydia as she blows off the tip, as if it were the barrel of a gun. Lydia chuckles and Stiles takes a seat on his stool, gesturing for her to keep going. Malia rounds the table looking for her best shot. She lines herself up the way Scott taught her, clears her mind and takes another shot, and to her surprise sinks another ball.

“Stripes!” Malia shouts as she straightens up, feeling elated. “We got stripes!” she says with a little fist pump. She points in the direction of Stiles and Lydia and does a mocking little victory dance.

Lydia chuckles waving her off. But Stiles is leaned back on his stool, the back of his head resting against the wall as he watches her. There’s a very different sort of warmth in his eyes now, a spark of pride in his smile. Malia feel a rush of nostalgia when she sees that look. He used to give her that look whenever she’d come parading up to him with a high scoring test or passing grade. _That’s my girl_ he’d mutter proudly against her lips every time she’d swoop in to collect her kiss.

Malia blinks and looks away trying not to chase the memory to far. Blowing out a breath she looks down at the table and focuses. She aims, lines up her shot…and sinks another stripped ball. Malia rears back from the table and shoots a look of shock at Scott. Then she turns to smirk at Stiles and Lydia. She drops her cue on the table and waves her hand dramatically as if the cue had burnt her hand.

Stiles sputters into his drink his shoulders shaking with laughter. Lydia hands him the napkin from under her drink as she notices beer dripping down his chin.

Stiles brushes off his chin, “You’ve created a monster.” He accuses Lydia jokingly, “Thank God, you didn’t teach her to trash talk too.”

Lydia shrugs her shoulder, “I mean in the end it wasn’t even necessary. She’s getting her she point across just fine without words.”

Malia is just about to respond to them when Scott suddenly sweeps her off her feet. He spins her around in a circle then plants a warm congratulatory kiss on the corner of her mouth. The sensation buzzes across her skin like a white-hot shot to the system. When he sets her back on her feet Malia leans into him, still a bit unsteady. Malia blinks up at him a little unsure exactly what just happened. Behind her she hears the scrape of chair legs hitting the floor.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Stiles mutters. The corner of Malia’s mouth is still buzzing as he brushes past her and Scott, a heavy scent pouring off of him, the same strange smell that had caught her off guard earlier this evening. Her eyes try to track him as he leaves but he’s quickly swallowed up by the crowd.


	3. Batgirl

Malia fouled her next shot on purpose and then made a few lame excuses to Lydia before she went after him. Even in the crowded bar, he wasn’t hard to find. She just followed the trail of heady chemo signals he left in his wake. She found him sitting at the bar with a row of shots set in front of him. She bit her lip as she considered how to deal with this. 

Stiles has always been territorial of her. To be fair, he’s territorial of everyone in the pack and of his family, and anyone that he loves. But she knows it’s different with her. With her, there is a different sort of intensity to it. Sometimes what honestly starts as him behaving a bit overly protective rapidly tailspins into something else. Something that her baser, animal instincts understand all too well. _Jealousy._

It’s not like Malia was a stranger to the emotion herself, especially when it came to Stiles. It’s just that they aren’t together anymore, so she isn’t quite sure how to approach the subject. When she and Stiles were together, they would talk these things out. She knew how to reassure him, and he knew how to reassure her, and they had this unshakable trust in each other, even if sometimes their emotions did get the better of them. 

But right now, where they stood with each other was very different. Stiles had no claim on her, and she had no claim on him. Malia knew that she didn’t owe him anything. But he was one of her best friends, and she couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty. They had both been playing with fire earlier, flirting like that, and they shouldn’t have let it happen. 

Whatever else they sometimes were, they were always friends, and if Stiles had taught her anything, it was that she could always be straight with him. Malia dodges around a few other patrons and hoists herself onto the stool next to him. “So…we need to talk.” 

Stiles sets down his empty shot glass. “What happened? You get tired of winning?” he asks with a smirk, purposely trying to deflect her. 

“Look. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it get that far.” 

His smile falls away at her words, and half turns toward her. “No.” His skin is flushed from the hard alcohol, but his tone entirely sober. “I started it, and I knew what I was doing. That wasn’t fair of me.” 

Malia can’t handle the sincerity in his big, brown eyes. They make her feel foolish and overly sentimental. She drops her eyes before she can do something stupid. She should accept his apology and go back to the pool table, but she doesn’t. Instead, her hand snakes out, and she steals one of the shots lined up in front of him and drags it over to her side of the bar. 

“So why did you do it?” 

“Scott’s been all over you for like a week, now. I guess I’m just getting sick of having to watch it.” 

Malia’s brow furrowed. “Scott and have been together before; it didn’t bother you then.” 

“You’re kidding me right?” he scoffs, “I was 2,000 miles away, just because I didn’t have to watch it happen, doesn’t mean it didn’t drive me crazy.” 

“Oh.” Malia breathes out. “So, it’s not the watching it happen that’s bugging you. It’s that it might be happening.” 

“Err.” Stiles curses under his breath as he’s caught in an unintentional lie. “I didn’t…that wasn’t how I…” he trails off. Malia watches as he struggles to articulate himself. He glances at her, and Malia can practically see the wheels turning I his head, watches her. She can see that he’s cursing at himself for ever teaching her the art of interrogating subjects. Then after a minute of struggling, his shoulders slump, and he breathes out. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

“Have you talked to Scott about this?” 

“He’s my best friend. I’m not gonna tell him he can’t be into you. It would have to come from you. I mean, if you wanted it to stop. I mean, if it was, it was something you were uncomfortable with.” 

“Do I seem uncomfortable with it?” 

Stiles arches an eyebrow at her as he assessed her. “So, your open to it. To him and you, I mean.” He says with a gesture back toward his best friend. 

Malia shrugs, struggling to find the answer herself. “I’m not, not open to it.” 

Stiles drops his chin. “Right.” He says with a subtle nod. “Makes sense.” He mutters as he reaches for another shot. 

He draws the shot closer but doesn’t drink it. He just stares down at it for a long few seconds, avoiding meeting her eyes. He’s hurt, she realizes. And a wave of guilt washes through her. She wants to reach out to him, but she doesn’t want to give him mixed signals. 

They both decided this was for the best. She and Stiles have been broken up for over a year now. Before that, they’d been together off and on since high school. Malia had come to accept that she was always going to love him and that there would always be a magnetic pull between them, but it was never going to work. He was too overprotective, and she was too headstrong and reckless. They had been broken up for a year, but if she started dating Scott, this wouldn’t be like all the other times she and Stiles had _“taken a break.”_ This would be her finally moving on. 

“Stiles,” she says softly. 

Stiles jolts out of his thoughts and flashes her a melancholy grin. “S’ok. I get it.” he looks down again, overly focused on playing with his shot glass. “It had to happen eventually, right?” 

There is so much she feels at this moment, so much she wants to say, but she can’t get it out. 

“Damn, camping this weekend is gonna be awkward.” He says with a sigh as he rubs a hand over his face. Camping at Taylor Beach was an end of summer tradition for the pack. But now it meant that this weekend she was going to be living in close quarters with both Scott and Stiles for two days and two nights. 

“No. It doesn’t have to be.” Malia says firmly, and Stiles shoots her a disbelieving look. “This is a friend’s weekend. No romance. No complications. Just all of us together.” 

“Does Scott know that? Because if this,” he says, gesturing back toward the pool table, “is his idea of being ‘friendly’ then I think I’ll skip the torture and stay home.” 

“You can’t just not come; this is your tradition. You started this!” 

A hand slapped the counter behind Malia, startling her, and she shot a look over her shoulder to find a large, drunk man demanding service. The bartender, a slight young woman, shook her head at him and said, “I’m sorry, sir, you’ve had enough.” 

The man’s face twisted up angrily. He threw his money down on the counter, gesturing to it and demanding another drink. The bartender shook her head again and moved away. The man swore after her, calling her a laundry-list of dirty, disgusting things, and Malia suddenly lost her patience. She grabbed the man by his meaty hand and wrenched his finger hard. He dropped to a knee with a garbled cry, his face turning reddish-purple. 

“You’ve had enough.” She says matter of factly. “Say it.” 

The man’s face contorted with pain as he shook his head. “I’ve had enough.” Malia released him, and he curled his arm protectively into his chest. 

“Now, go sit over there and behave yourself.” She says firmly. The man nods and scurries away to the stool, furthest away. “Mae!” she calls to the bartender. “Do you mind calling my friend over there a cab? He’s done for the night.” 

Mae smiles and nods, “Thanks, Mal.” She says as she sets another drink in front of Malia then moves away. 

When Malia turns back to Stiles, she finds him watching her. He’s half-turned toward, with his head propped on his hand, he looks a bit tipsier than he did earlier, the shots having caught up with him. His eyes a bit glassy as he stares at her dreamily. “It’s so hot when you go full batgirl.”

Malia’s cheeks flush with warmth. She tries to laugh it off and says, “You’re drunk.” But she can’t stop the feeling of pride that blooms in her chest. Stiles has always been proud of her, and he’s never been cheap with praise. But he’s never called her batgirl before. She knows how much he loves his comic books. And she’s not gonna lie, a half-drunk Stiles Stilinski staring at her dreamily calling her batgirl does things to her. Stupid, confusing, tantalizing things to her. 

_to be continued_


End file.
